


Rubescence

by JaydenRayne01



Category: Hellsing
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adventure & Romance, Amazonas - Freeform, BDSM, Babylonia, Barbados, Cannibalism, Demonic Possession, Dominant Masochism, Dominatrix, England - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Femininity, Gen, Immortals, LGBTQ Female Character, LGBTQ Female Character of Color, Magic, Multi, Murder, Nature, Nature Magic, Other, Religion, Scotland, Seduction, Sex, Slavery, Spells & Enchantments, Spiritual, Trauma, Undead, Vampires, Victim of Assault, Witchcraft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-11
Updated: 2019-11-29
Packaged: 2020-01-11 22:36:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18433520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JaydenRayne01/pseuds/JaydenRayne01
Summary: The year is 2030 in London, England; the climate is changing, technology is dominating the natural world, and humanity's moral code is being pushed to its limits. In this New Age, humans have come to believe that they are masters of discovery and knowledge. However, institutions like the Hellsing Organization allowed humanity to "live in blissful ignorance", as Sir Integra Hellsing would put it. Vampires, ghouls, and werewolves are creatures that Hellsing is already aware of...but there's more. Witches, demons, and many more Children of the Night are starting to come out of the woodwork. There are some who even have abilities not related to the occult.Still, they may wish to consult Dante Alighieri and H.P. Lovecraft this time.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> The tags as shown above this work is to let you know what might be present farther into the story. Right now, there is no graphic writing in the chapters shown, but when that changes I will document in the summary what chapters can be viewed by a broader audience and which chapters should be read with consideration.
> 
> Chapter 5, "Of Goats & Ghouls": Moderate descriptions of gore and violence. Graphic descriptions of minor supernatural metamorphosis.

 

 

 

> "Why should not we have a poetry and philosophy of insight and not of tradition, and a religion by revelation to us, and not the history of theirs? Embosomed for a season in nature, whose floods of life stream around and through us, and invite us by the powers they supply, to action proportioned to nature, why should we grope among the dry bones of the past, or put the living generation into masquerade out of its faded wardrobe? The sun shines to-day also." - Ralph Waldo Emerson, _Nature_

_And God said, Let the earth bring forth the living creature after his kind, cattle, and creeping thing, and beast of the earth after his kind: and it was so._

Genesis 1:24

 

"Alright. We’re off to a good start.”

 

_And God made the beast of the earth after his kind, and cattle after their kind, and everything that creepeth upon the earth after his kind: and God saw that it was good._

                                              Genesis 1:25

 

“Yes, good. Let’s keep going.”

 

_And God said, Let us make man in our image, after our likeness: and let them have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over the cattle, and over all the earth, and over every creeping thing that creepeth upon the earth._

                                             Genesis 1:26

 

“Ah… There’s the mistake.”

 

_Thwump._

 

A cloud of dust dispells, growing tawny in the morning afterglow. It falls from dog-eared pages that were abruptly forced shut in a fit of silent bitterness. The cloud lingers in the air for a moment; the Holy Spirit has been evicted from his bookish temple. Now all that remains of it is musty smoke. _There is nowhere else to hide, little ghost._

 

_Let there be Truth._


	2. Routine

The shadows retreat, their season of reigning supreme finally coming to a close after three months.

 

Rather than snow during these months, much of it was sleet or hail. This winter proved to be a menace to anyone who didn’t have four-wheel drive, or worse still, to anyone who had to brave the elements. The slush from the pseudo-snow storms would get pushed up against the curbs, but it did little to stop the formation of ice. Christmas proved to be anything other than a winter wonderland.

 

But here comes the sun! Here it was, with all its yellowish dreams and acoustic-guitar-inspiring presence. Yes, it’s been a long, cold, lonely winter, alright. Everyone could finally breathe in the spring air, their lungs filling to the brim with a perfume called nostalgia. The hues of vibrant life started coming back from the earth, bleeding into the sidewalks and the brownish buildings erected so long ago. Through the alchemy of spring, grey turned silver--then beige to peach; cobalt to blueberry; umber to cinnamon. Hm...that might make for a good pie actually. Too bad there’s no silverware in the cupboard.

 

Cheery voices were more common now that Mother Nature decided to heat things up a bit. Couples walked arm in arm, men’s faces weren’t so scrunched up as they would be in the bitter cold, and women were already trying the dresses they either bought before autumn came or got from holiday. And who could forget the rambunctious little pests hollering at God knows what. It was always far too clear--spring could never come in silence. At least in the winter, she could get some peace and quiet while she dealt with her sad situation. Then the grass starts growing again. The skies no longer match her mood.

 

How long has it been since she had people whom she called friends? Too long, obviously. Nice girls, all lived good lives, partly because she made sure they did. She could barely recall their names now, however. As she sauntered down the street and into Trafalgar Square, she tried recalling some of the names of her friends, rest their souls.

 

“Jeanne… Catherine? Was there a Catherine…? Hmm...” Her brows knit closer together as her thoughts travel back to the faces of women long gone. But there was one face, one name she could never forget. It haunted her. Freckled cheeks, downcast eyes large like a doll’s, chestnutty hair-- A familiar ache in her breast returned. It felt like something hard had formed in the base of her throat, making it hard to swallow.  _ Stop thinking about it, Rosemary. Just...walk. One foot in front of the other. Look at the fountains. _ Green eyes locked on Trafalgar Square’s centerpiece water fountains for the billionth time. She knew where every crack was and when new ones appeared. They looked almost identical, but she could tell that the Jellicoe fountain was a just a half-shade darker than the Beatty fountain. And one of the fountains was faultier--Beatty’s--that gave the maintenance team trouble from time to time. Many different shades of blue reflected in the pools--about forty-six shades, to be exact. But a different shade once cast a darker silhouette on the merfolk and dolphins. A complement of blue, but it did anything but flatter.

It wreaked of human death everywhere. The smell of the iron in the blood, usually so subtle, was overpowering that day. God, there was red everywhere… The flames, the blood, the clothing, even their  _ eyes _ . It made her hate having red hair. It was a miracle that she didn’t rip it all out in those moments. Then again, she was a bit preoccupied with...something else. Her stomach churned in response, but not in nausea as she wanted. Instead, it growled in hunger.

**_“Fffeeaaassstt…”_ **

_Bullocks_. There he goes again. She hated that voice. The best way to describe it is that sounds like a sheep’s _baa_ , but deeper, and it could form words. But it was also having a seizure somewhere deep underground. It sounded far away at first. Then it grew louder.

**_“Ffeeeeaasssstttt…”_ **

_ I heard you the first time, you goat fuck.  _ Bad mistake--it felt as if her ribcage suddenly convulsed into her, pinching her organs. She doubled over in pain. “Aarrghh! Stop...!” When was she ever going to learn to stop sassing the fucking thing? Probably never. At least it wasn’t as bad as it used to be. Maybe it was starting to get used to her attitude because its punishments weren’t as bad as they used to be. 

“...Miss? Are you alright?”

“Wha--oh, yes. Just a cramp, you know. Nothing to fret about.” She gave a nervous laugh. The man who stopped to check on her state seemed unconvinced.

 

“Are you quite sure? You look rather pale, miss.”

“Ah--do I? Well, I suppose I’ve been staying inside a lot. Winter has been awful.”

“Yeah, right!” He chuckled, perhaps to show her that he meant well. “Maybe all that climate change rubbish they’re talking about is actually true.”

“It may be.” She was standing now and gave the man a once-over. Late 30’s, maybe early 40’s. A desk job, definitely. No ring on his finger, so unmarried. There are bags under his eyes; late nights at the office and insomnia like most of the blokes nowadays. Recently shaved and got a haircut, nothing fancy. Laughlines. Crowsfeet. Not bad looking, though. A run-of-the-mill husband material sort of chap.

“So...you’re sure you’re alright?” He gave her a sympathetic tilt of the head.

“Oh yes! Yes, I’m fine now, thank you.”  _ Give the poor bastard a nice smile. There you go. Now brush back your hair… _ He seemed a bit nervous now like he was at a loss for words. Good. This should be another easy one.

“So...what are you up to later?”


	3. Shadows of England

It’s been a year since he came back.

 

“Sir Integra, the King wishes to have a full report on the latest activities in Wales.”

 

“I’ve already submitted my memo for Taliaris.”

 

“He wishes for a  _ full  _ report, Sir Hellsing.” A sigh escapes before she can replace the cigarillo between her lips. “I presume he wants it to be as thorough as the last report?”

 

“That’s correct, Sir Integra.”

 

“...Very well. Tell King Charles that he can expect a full report in forty-eight hours.”

 

“Very good, Sir Integra.”

 

“Farewell.”

 

The royal messenger was ushered out the Hellsing Organization’s administrative office without another word from its owner by right and by blood. Integra Fairbrook Wingates Hellsing--a woman of rare form and rarer position. Always standing upon on a pedestal she herself was tasked to maintain with no one else there to help her keep steady. To put such a dreadful task upon a young girl’s shoulders; surely it was a sin to make a rosy little lotus grow in a red tide all its life. 

  
Everything had to be larger than life, even the damn windows. Was it her father’s bright idea to make the office even brighter, or was there someone else to blame? Everything had to be so grand in this place, down to the last tile. She remembered roaming these halls as a child. It was a labyrinth then. The rooms were too many and the corridors were too long; she remembered working up the courage to peek around every corner of the hallways in search of the Grady twins after watching  _ The Shining _ unsupervised. And she knew it was foolish, but she would swing open the empty wardrobes in hopes of catching even one snowflake drifting along after reading _The_ _ Chronicles of Narnia _ . It’s too bad that nightmares turned out to be more common than daydreams.  _ Ah...c’est la vie… _

**_“Reminiscing, are we?”_ **

Once upon a time, that voice sent shivers up her spine. Speech that seemed to reach up from an abyssal domain, an echo all-encompassing. It was not something you could learn to be comfortable with--tolerate, maybe. But there was nothing comfortable about such divulgences.

**_“Hmph...that’s too bad. It used to be so fun, watching you squirm, Sir Integra…”_ ** The monster in man’s flesh faded into view, his entrance accompanied by tendrils of amber-rimmed darkness snaking about his form--a man’s silhouette with a reddish core. If a shadow could catch fire, this unearthly manifestation would be the result.

“Is there something I can help you with, servant?” It was a usual tone she used when he tried toying with her; mild contempt covered by revered patience. Now and again, her father’s words echoed in her head:  _ “Frail...sobbing...children…” _

“Your frail, sobbing child is growing restless, Sir Integra. These missions are pointless.” The chilling depth that enhanced his tone was now gone, and he spoke in his usual baritone voice.

“You are in no position to complain about your tasks, Alucard. Need I remind you of your extensive absence? It’s only been a year since you’ve come back from your little sabbatical.”

“Sabbatical? Am I a professor now?”

“You’re going to backtalk me? It seems like your time away has emboldened you, servant. Now get out of my office! There is work to be done and you are getting on my last nerve, Alucard.”

A sour frown marked the vampire’s expression; clearly, Integra was in no mood to fraternize. Perhaps it was the new monarch that caused her to lash out at him; Charles could act the part of king, but he lacked the tempered steel that his mother had. He was disciplined, but not where it counted, especially when dealing with creatures of the night. The count had great respect for Elizabeth and his master, but King Charles was nothing more than a cheap replica of what was. The sun did rise the day that Queen Elizabeth died, but it was a dark day for England.

He left the room, walking out the doorway instead of materializing as he did initially, sulking through the corridors. His shadow seemed darker--maybe it was the slant of light, a cloud blotting out the sun outside and darkness crept through the window. Maybe not. Likely not. He  was made to play the role of antichrist, was he not? What else could he be called? Azazel. The Boogeyman. Chaugnar Faugn. The Night Walker. Hades. Strix. Strigoi. The Hound of Baskerville. Lich King. Son of the Dragon. Dracula. At one point, he was just a vampire--a powerful master of his kind, yes, but just a vampire. But thirty-one years ago, he consumed Schrödinger's Cat and complicated his existence even further. He had even tried to read some of Erwin Schrödinger's works with page after page discussing thought experiments, quantum mechanics, subatomic events, hypotheses about how reality collapses into one possibility or the other. Some word the mad scientist used to describe his research caught Alucard’s attention. He couldn’t recall what the word was in German, just that meant “entanglement”. He had stared at the term while he was in the middle of reading Erwin’s nonsense.  _ Entangelment _ ... _ entanglement _ ... _ entanglement _ … He chanted it inside his mind, like a mantra.

“Master? What’s wrong?” There was no mistaking that shrill sound; it was his apprentice.

“There is nothing wrong, Police Girl. Our master has some very important work to do, so keep to yourself.”

“Er...yes, sir. You just seemed…”

“Seemed what, Seras? I was thinking. Now if you have nothing else to say, go and scout for anything strange happening in the city.”   
  
"But sir, we’ve already scouted London for supernatural threats. There hasn’t been anything unusual since--”   
  
“I may no longer have any power over you ever since you became a true vampire, but it is foolish to think that there are no more threats. There is always something lurking in the shadows, Seras. You should know that better than anyone.”

“I…” Her lips part to let out a sigh. Perhaps it was true, but… “Yes, sir. I will search for anything that may be out of the ordinary and disturbing the peace.”   
  
“Good.”

The fledgling rushed off to check--again--for any monsters threatening the king’s people, in which there were none. Or at least that’s what they all were comfortable with thinking now. No, there had to be something… Something waiting for a chance to strike and fight and win. And would it be so bad if it did? Not for him. It may very well be for the best. The best...and the worst. Horrible and incredible. A miracle and a tragedy. 

 

He repeated the word again.  _ Entanglement _ ... _ entanglement _ ... _ entanglement _ ...


	4. A Pawn in the Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the late submission; I have been working on college-related work and I have been scrambling to finish everything in order to get my diploma this summer. I will be trying to get back into the swing of things now that the worst has passed.
> 
> \- J.R.

She couldn’t do it. After he wouldn’t stop yapping about trying to contact a divorce attorney between his mother becoming terminally ill, she decided to spare the poor man. Though, maybe it could have spared him the pain, too.

 

**_“Huuuunnngggriiieeee… Voooorrracioussss… Raaavveennnouusssss… I AM HUUNNGRRIIEEEE, ROSEMARIIIEEEEE…”_ **

 

“I. Know.” She spoke through grit teeth. 

 

Someone finally decided to fully inflate the moon this evening, and it proved to be a dimmer white sun. The skyline seemed to have that brown undertone that reminds you of those Halloween nights that really weren’t that memorable, but children grow up and lump each night together like each one was the best. They weren’t even memorable for Rosemary; and she’s a _witch,_ for that matter. Then again, she was an old one, too. And she had to fucking eat someone on top of being an old bitch in flesh belonging to a 20-year-old.

 

Then, a viscous sound coming from within the very confounds of her bowels elicited a visceral reaction from the host. The churning of a treacle borne of some ungodly creation caused her to fall to her knees, the hem of her dress kissing the concrete. This was when she knew that the next person she saw would need to be her victim, or they all might suffer some serious consequences. But--she looked around. A train station. Where the hell was she going all this time? Did she just...subconsciously walk all out of her way to get to Norwood Junction? Or maybe she was persuaded to come here by the horned fiend living as muck around her guts. She refused to think that it was her mind that took charge in the midst of a common hunger crisis, realizing that the only food of sustenance was to rip off the limbs of another body like itself. But through time, everything becomes routine. And she had more time than bloody God.

 

She began to feel heavier; pushing herself off the ground, it suddenly seemed like her arms were not strong enough to support her weight. She could feel a bubbling substance rising above her intestines, like activated yeast. Gallbladder, kidneys, liver, heart, lungs, and when it found itself just below the esophagus, it began to drain into her arteries and veins. If one placed their ear against any part of her torso, they could hear the thick slushing of some slime-like liquid every time she made even the smallest movement. When it reached her shoulders, she knew that he was close to taking control away from her.

 

**_“Feeeeeeeeed… Innggeeeeeesssttt… COOONNNSSSSUUUUUUMMMEEEE… SOOOOOOONN, ROSEMARIIEEEEE, WE WILL EEEEEAAAAATTTT… I WILL EEEAAAATTT…!”_ **

 

Her feet dragged across the platform. She was losing all feeling in her body, save for the squelching sounds all around her innards. She was sure she looked more and more like one of those ghouls. She could only imagine what she might’ve looked like had her outward appearance matched how she felt. Her skin would be the same shade as year-old asphalt; her eyes could be bulging out of her head and glowing at this point. But a good hunter needs camouflage. If anything, she was pale and sickly. Apparent threat status: low. But there was no one he--

 

“--there in 40 minutes, Lilian! I’m sorry I missed the train Lily, shit happens! I was held back at work a--Lily.... _Lily_...for fuck’s sake Lily, will you stop being such a brat! Listen--”

 

She laid her back flat against the wall of the train station. There was a man standing near the edge of the train platform. He didn’t see her, thank the heavens. Her heart would be beating faster if it wasn’t drowning in tar. Yet despite being waterlogged, her five senses were stronger now--she was entering what she called, “hunter mode”. With little concentration, she could count the seconds that went by before his heart pulsated again and smell the sweat pooling just above his brow. Her nostrils flared at his cheap cinnamon-scented cologne. He had no accent...American. He had a band on his finger and he was young. Recently married…

 

**_“Go.”_ **

 

She couldn’t argue with that. She needed to eat. He missed the train. 

 

They were the only people here. 

 

She bent her knees to lower her center of gravity and moved forward, crouching. 

 

“Lily, no offense, but your brother is a dickhead. That’s why we’re arguing--no, he is! Lily, you know he is. Just look at what happened last Christmas. ...I don’t care if he got laid off, he was a jackass!” He threw his left hand to the side in frustration and began to make many more gestures in his distracted state. 

 

“I can’t believe your mother and father let him live with them for free. Lily---Lily, please. Stop defending your brother.”

 

 _Trouble in paradise,_ she thought. It was only going to get worse in a few more seconds. 

 

She could almost sneeze from his heavy use of perfume, but if he turned back to face her now, she’d have trouble explaining herself. It seemed like he wasn’t getting anywhere with the woman on the other end of the phone, so he might hang up soon. She stood up on the balls of her feet, hands positioned in front of her and fingers spread wide. In this state, breaking people’s necks was like twisting the trunk of a sapling until it splintered. She had the demon to thank (or curse) for that. “Whatever, I’ll talk to you when I get there.” (No, you won’t.)

 

“Goodbye.” 

 

Tell her you love her, you twat. Do it. Jesus Christ, _just say it._

 

“...Yeah. I love you too.” _Click._

 

_Crrunch!_


	5. Of Goats & Ghouls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: some violence and gore. Read at own risk.

Flesh of her flesh, felled like a tree in the way. Ready the knives growing out of the tips of your fingers; it is time for the harvest.

 

How easy it was to carry him from the scene of his murder. She threw his limp body over her shoulder and marched on with her kill. Reaching a chain link fence, the huntress hurled the dead man over the other side like he was nothing more than a duffel bag half-full with clothes. She jumped straight up and landed with her feet on the edge of the eight-foot fence. Physical feats no longer mattered to her and her prisoner when their meal was on the line. And God have mercy on any mortal that dared to stray too close to their temporary dining room.

 

A possessed Rosemary bent down to grip his ankle to drag his body across the forest floor. His weight did little to impede her walking as she stalked the woods for a place to feed. With how she wrenched his neck around, she was literally dragging his face through the mud while the rest of his body faced the opposite direction.

 

Her presence was hard to ignore for anything that lived within those woods. Even with the allure of springtime’s noël, the newly-born flora seemed to stretch away from her. Overhead, a duo of grey squirrels lept from branch to branch to get away from the cursed witch. The ruckus caused by the rodent couple only sparked more interest among the forest life, but that gross curiosity was only good for a warning to flee. Soon, all noise died. A breeze kept her company, but nothing sentient stayed to greet her. It was like winter had returned in the form of a woman with amber hair. It demanded privacy, and the wildlife had half a mind to oblige. Even humans, as dumb in instinct as they are, would be able to feel it: a heavy cold where the frost touched the heart and not the skin.

 

She let go of his foot and his leg fell with a  _ thump _ . She found a decaying log wearing a coat of moss--this would be her perch. Picking up a razor-edged stone with one flat side, it would serve well when she used blunt force to crush bone and marrow. She needed little else, but just to make things easier…

 

From the inside of her left boot, Rosemary took out a hunting knife she’s had since the late 19th century.  A Bowie knife with its original sheath, it's lasted longer than she had ever anticipated, but then again, they don’t make ‘em like they used to. 

 

At this point in time, Rosemary was working in a daze. The veins in her eyes were beginning to grey and her mouth hung ajar while an unusually large amount of drool pooled out of her mouth, jaw slack like the maw of a feral beast. A flash of metal glinted in slivers of moonlight before the entire blade found itself where the thigh and groin meet. It sailed through the meat easily and even sliced into any bone that was in its way. A small spray of blood splattered her wrist, but the old English woman failed to notice. Cutting and carving came too easily. With the way she was, it took little effort to separate the right leg from the rest of his body. But the smell of blood was far too much for her to handle in this primal state she was in, and so she jammed the knife into the log before taking the leg in her hands. From the depths of her throat, something came writhing up the slimy tube of her esophagus and with her jaw bone snapping apart to accommodate whatever it was that squirmed up her windpipe, a leathery-lipped mouth emerged from within her very own. A cackling bleat arose from whatever Lovecraftian thing of horrors lived in the very pits of her body with teeth belonging to some kind of livestock or cattle. Yet unlike teeth of herbivorous charismatic megafauna, the enamels were as serrated as a hacksaw. Where the dental pad should have been, there was a fang the size of a balled fist in the shape of a hooked bill. Black sludge poured out of the monster’s orifice in thick blobs. There was no saving her garments after that, and even more so once the jaws of the demon latched onto the leg.

 

It was a sight that no one but the blood-thirstiest of carnivores would enjoy watching. Whatever agent of nature it was that crafted the maw of this creature, it proved to be horribly efficient. Meat was torn off in huge chunks to the point that she with the help of the goat-creature reached the man’s femur in no time at all. The carcass might as well had been made out of ground beef. 

 

But in the midst of their gluttony, something else with a hunger for human flesh lurks.

 

***

 

City lights were always a great tool that made people feel safe when night loomed overhead. A false sense of safety, of course. There was nothing that the faint flicker of an old London street light would do against an attacker. If anything, the shadows around every yellow spotlight lining the streets could conceal anything within them.

 

There was a sharp gust of wind accompanied with a strange red streak, each lasting a second and not a moment more, with no one there to witness it. However, the hue of the crimson burst was not one-dimensional--at the corner of one’s vision, it might have gleamed in a menacing flare; look at it directly, and the shimmer was embedded deep within shuddering, waking darkness. It was a black glint, a window into the world of dauntless seraphim bewitched by the corruptible unknown, but for now, only one seraph of nether remained on Earth.

 

The one and only fledgling of the No Life King searched the Kingdom’s capital for any signs of supernatural trouble but came up with nothing. For the three decades her Master was away, business for the Queen’s Royal Order of Protestant Knights, Hellsing, was slow. Now and again, the formerly-dubbed “Police Girl” would catch a sloppy third-rate vampire and their small herd of ghouls, but it was nothing like the mess she had to deal with when she first started working for the Hellsing Organization. With the Vatican and Hellsing keeping a close eye on suspicious activity, it seemed like snuffing out the freaks was an easy task. It seemed that way, at least.

 

Seras Victoria found herself near one of the city’s many train stations, though this particular train station typically had less traffic than the others. She didn’t expect to find anyone out here, of course. She took a few steps closer to the tracks when she noticed at her feet. A wallet that was open face-down on the cement with a credit card sticking out one of the leather pockets. Picking it up and flipping it over in her fully-fleshed arm, she scanned for an identity of the person that dropped it. “Samuel J. Lewis,” she confirmed. He was tan with hazel eyes and dirty-blonde hair. Twenty-six years old...in three weeks. “What rotten luck…” Pocketing the wallet to give to a local police station, Seras turned to leave when the wind carried a scent to her nose that made her freeze in place.  _ “One is blood”.  _ She concluded immediately. _ “The other is...u-ugh...what is that?”  _ It took much to disgust a vampire, but this particular smell caused Seras to gag. As much as she wanted nothing more than to get as far away from the stench as possible, she was well aware that whatever it was, it definitely wasn’t human.

 

In the woods, a witch possessed still consumed what little flesh and tissue were left of Samuel’s body. The only part of her face that wasn’t smeared with blood and pieces of skin was around the bridge of her nose. Bite after bite after bite, more of the man’s body vanished into the symbiote’s monstrous gob. The most essential organs were already gone; the heart, kidneys, liver, lungs, gallbladder, even both the large and small intestines were gone. He was a shell ripped open and his rib cage would soon be picked clean. 

 

But the gluttonous brute knew of another’s coming. The intrusion drew a wavering snarl from the second demonic mouth. Though it arrogantly believed it could easily kill the immortal intruder, it knew that secrecy was its best ally. Therefore, as its host, Rosemary let the fiend rip off whatever meat it could get to slide down its gullet in a mad frenzy of tearing bites. The witch was then forced to rise to her feet at blinding speed and fled the scene in a blur. 

 

It wasn’t until her legs (and arms) carried her to the roof of some old apartment building blocks away from her kill that the demon’s hold on her subsided. Rosemary quickly regained control of her body now that she did what she had to do. Her body heaved with the amount of exertion the infernal beast put her through with clots of blood falling from her face onto the rooftop. Regaining composure, on the other hand, was always a struggle. But it didn’t matter. She got away from whatever it was that was walking near. She was safe.

 

And then her eyes shot open.

 

_ She forgot the knife. _


End file.
